


To Making It Count

by jscribbles



Series: The Best Men [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, PWP, Triggery, cas/dean, dean/cas - Freeform, the best men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two times Dean says 'I love you' to Castiel. (Is part of The Best Men verse although it can be read as stand alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Making It Count

Dean didn’t say ‘I love you’ too much. 

As a matter of fact, in the first year they were officially a couple he’d only ever said it two times. 

The first time had been the famous incident at Sam’s wedding that had involved not only a verbal declaration of love, but a very public gay smooch that no one had yet let him live down, and really terrible dancing in front of a less-than-subtle viewing audience. Not that he regretted it. Sure, it had been unplanned, rushed, and a mostly forced-from-him confession because Cas had been stubborn and hurt and really Dean had no other choice if he wanted to make him forgive. At the time, it had seemed that the only thing that had the power to knock Cas out of his hurt funk was for Dean to bare it all at the sake of his dignity. But, as said, he didn’t regret it. The fact that _that_ particular declaration had been a result of panicked verbal diarrhea didn’t make it any less true. No, as a matter of fact, it made their relationship that much easier. It had started off with love and so there went the stress of finding the right time to nervously murmur the three little words to a lover who anxiously expected it.

Cas said it occasionally. A casual ‘love you’ as he walked out of the apartment for work or perhaps in the morning when they woke up tangled together and his face was smashed up against Dean’s head. But it was nothing earth shattering, nothing that made Dean panic when all he could say back was ‘hmmrph’ or ‘shut up, stupid’.

The second time Dean had said ‘I love you’, it had been done in the same way as the first time - emotional, passionate, and unexpected. 

He’d said it during sex. Which perhaps doesn’t sound appealing and romantic, or even unexpected - lots of people say passionate words during sex. It hadn’t even been said in the most perfect of circumstance by normal standards, but then again they weren’t normal people or a normal couple so it was suitable and really _just fine._

It hadn’t even been during their first time together. As a matter of fact their first time hadn’t gone over that well at all. It had involved two people who weren’t all that familiar with gay sex, not enough lube, nervous shakes, and even loss of erection a couple times. Dean had tried giving a blowjob, failed miserably and gagged so much they had very narrowly avoided having to clean up vomit from their bedroom floor. 

Sounds romantic, right? Talk about awkward. It had left both men wondering for a while if they had made the right decision trying to move their relationship past hand jobs and heated makeout sessions on all the surfaces of their apartment. Luckily, Castiel turned out to be surprisingly good at blowjobs which had turned out to be the saving grace of the night. 

Also lucky for them, their second attempt had been much better and Dean’s internal crisis about being horrible at sex with man passed as well. It hadn’t been that time however, that he said those three little words. And it hadn’t been the time after that either. It wasn’t even a time remotely close to that time period, when their new-found passion for each other was turned up, perfected, and repeated frequently over the next couple months… on every surface in their apartment.

They had been said on a night that had started rather horribly. Dean and Cas had been quite lucky for their first couple months jumping back into hunting. Local jobs - ghosts, poltergeists, women in white, the usual - had been their main thing. Salt and burn ‘em gigs had lulled them into a false sense of security. So when a witch had pinned Dean to the wall and two others forced Cas over an alter with a jagged sword poised at his throat, neither had been prepared. Dean’s life suddenly flashed before his eyes and felt inexplicably short, despite all his accomplishments. He felt the horrible anguish of thinking he’d never see Cas again, that he’d not gotten enough time with him, not gotten enough opportunity to have firsts with him, or to experience Castiel’s human life, to enrich it, to let it enrich him, to see Cas running after Sam’s kids or maybe even -- All in those moments he saw Cas in the barn, giant shadows of wings cast behind him as lightening struck. He saw Cas broken, bloody, defeated, fighting. Cas guiltily look up at him in Zachariah’s room. Cas slamming his hand down onto a bloody sigil. Cas healing his broken body. Cas dragging a Hell-worn Sam into Bobby’s kitchen. Cas clicking his beer against Dean’s. Cas watching TV beside him. Cas arching up into him, throwing his head back and moaning. Cas at Sam’s wedding. Cas waking up in the morning. Cas making breakfast. Brushing his teeth. Laughing so hard he has to double over. Smiling. Frowning. Crying. Cheering. Cas looking up at him from a sacrificial alter, about to perhaps die but looking at Dean like just looking upon him and seeing his face was the most happy moment of his life.

He wasn’t sure how they’d escaped, but the next thing he’d known he had a shaking but okay Castiel in his arms, and witch blood soaking his clothing and dripping from his hands. He remembered saying repeatedly and shakily, “I hate witches. I fucking hate witches. I wanna burn all the witches.” 

It might be cliché but the night he said ‘I love you’ to Castiel for the second time was like every frantic love scene in every dramatic Hollywood movie. Cue the shots of hips sliding against each other, and heads tossed back and yes, even the nails dragging across sweaty, moving back muscle, orange in the candlelight. 

Wait, no. That wasn’t it. Although they had that kind of sex too, sometimes. 

When Dean had said ‘I love you’ it was during a much different type of passion. Delirious and shaken from the experience with the witches, he’d let Cas take the lead. Not that he had much choice, Dean was a mess. He trembled lightly under Cas’ slender shape, inviting and pulling at him, willing the weight of another body on top of him as it pinned him against the mattress. He needed that, he needed him to take control because Dean felt like he‘d lost all of it, like it had been taken from him the moment the tip of that witches blade had touched Castiel‘s throat. Dean sucked in air sharply when Cas kissed the side of his nose and his forehead and his eye lids and his temples, on both sides. All he could do was shake uncontrollably and breathe in the smell of Cas, wanting to every bit of him, willing this to never end. It was every bit as romantic and unromantic as it could be. He was turned on and enraptured in the moment, yet Dean was seized with a fear and despair like he’d never felt before. He felt like if he didn’t have Cas inside him right then, then he’d lose him forever; like he would let him go and when he opened his eyes Cas wouldn’t be there. Later, he would look back and think he was being irrational and illogical, but at that moment…

Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, over and over, his nails dragging lightly over his scalp and his neck, his fingertips dancing down the side of his face and over his eyes, tracing over his lips when they weren’t connected with his own. When Cas moved his hands away, Dean’s would reach out almost fearfully, bringing them back down onto his skin, intertwining their fingers, whisper ‘please’ over and over like if he stopped saying it Cas would vanish. 

If Castiel was concerned, he didn’t show it. Instead he obliged, running his hands over Dean’s skin, his lips never leaving his face. They caught a tear as it slipped down Dean’s temple, trying to hide in his hair, trying to pretend it was never there. But Castiel got it, letting it rest on his lips, letting it dry there before he whispered, “Tell me, Dean. Tell me.”

And after Dean shut his eyes tightly and his chin crumpled, he rasped, “ _Please?_ I - I… “

His voice had broken and he’d turned away, tears no longer in singles, but tumbling over the bridge of his nose in sync to his shuddered breath, more tears escaping as he fought harder and harder to regain control. Cas needed no more, he grabbed Dean’s face between his hands and forced him to look straight at him, one hand releasing him to swipe under his eyes, eyes that had never yet been so green and so open and so bright. 

Maybe somewhere deep inside he still had some angelic powers, or maybe their profound bond was ever strong, but Castiel knew what Dean was saying although the words never left his lips. Castiel reached over to the side table and rummaged through the drawer. Minutes later, he had pushed three slick fingers inside Dean, whispering comforting words when it was too much, when the sharp inhalation of breath by his ear or against his lips was too sharp to be pleasure. The next thing they knew neither of them had any clothes on, and Cas was throwing a blanket over Dean’s shoulders, rolling onto his back so Dean was on top in his lap. Sitting up, he pulled Dean close, kissing him thoroughly, hoping to kiss away the persistent tremors, the soft hiccups, and the shuddered exhalations that said nothing but pain.

He wanted to tell Dean he didn’t have to do this, that he was okay with being taken, that nothing had to change. But he didn’t say anything because Dean slowly lowered himself onto Cas’ cock, inhaling sharply and holding Cas’ shoulders in a grip that said he was doing this for himself and maybe this was something he needed to do. 

Cas hugged Dean close, pressing their foreheads together. The hunter clung to him in return, tangling his fingers in his hair as he slipped down his cock, excruciatingly slow. He felt tight, too tight. Cas nudged his cheek with his nose, whispering Dean’s name repeatedly, his own eyes starting to sting and water in empathy. He tried to ask him to stop, to slow down. He knew he was hurting him, but Dean shook his head, panting hard, murmuring, ‘no’. When he took all he could, the two released one breath, and Dean sobbed, kissing Castiel with everything he had, fighting between sobbing in earnest and panting so hard his breath was hitching. He hadn’t moved yet. Castiel hugged him tightly.

“Stop,” He whispered into Dean’s hair, his lips brushing the shell of his ear, “You’ve had enough for tonight, Dean. It’s okay. You’re okay. Dean, you‘re okay.”

Dean pulled back and shook his head, inhaling shakily. Sweat poured down his face, making his hair stick to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed, making Dean Winchester look absolutely beautiful and happy and anguished and wrecked. Despite the damp eyes and tear stained cheeks, Dean laughed and nodded. He nodded and nodded until he was crying again. He was clearly in pain, but finally Dean moved a bit, holding onto Cas, tangling fingers in his hair and riding out the sharp stretch. Cas didn’t argue with him, and just held back, kissed back, clung back. He was there for him, murmuring, “I know, I know.” when Dean came finally with “I love you, Cas. I love you. Fuck. I love you. Don‘t leave me. _Please. Please._ ” tumbling from his lips in an almost inaudible string of words.

Cas lay him down and held him tight, stroking his hair until Dean’s shaking died down and he let an exhausted sleep take him. A shower would wait until next morning. Castiel lay beside him kissing his face long after the tears had dried, long after whatever thoughts Dean had been struggling with had left his mind.

Dean didn’t say ‘I love you’ too much, at least not out loud, but that was okay, because as far as Castiel was concerned, he never really needed to.


End file.
